


Sunday Morning

by retrinazambrano



Series: Inspired by OQ Week [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Outlaw Queen Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2020-04-06 15:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19065088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrinazambrano/pseuds/retrinazambrano
Summary: The morning after.





	Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> For Inspired by OQ Week, inspired by a manip by regal_regina_explicit: https://t.co/AZqUCOovvT

Robin's awoken that Sunday morning by the ringing of his alarm. He mentally curses himself for not switching it off for the weekend as he pulls himself up and to the bathroom to relieve the pressure on his bladder.

Robin stares at himself in the mirror as he washes his hands, taking in the tired eyes, complete with dark bags full of groceries and the hum of the beginnings of a blinding migraine. He didn't even drink that much last night, just a few beers with the guys before he headed home.

 _… oh shit_. He returns to the room to find he wasn't exactly alone when he left the bar last night, nor was he alone when he went to bed or fell asleep. Save for a few blankets wrapped tastefully about her torso, he can see her skin, smooth, tanned limbs, topped by an unruly, thoroughly debauched mane of dark curls that hide her features. The night comes back in fragments then; the pretty woman who came up to him and started talking, and he found her as fascinating as she was beautiful. He could talk to her all night and that they did, the topic of conversation ranging widely, from politics and philosophy, all the way to the latest episode of The Real Housewives of Storybrooke that Robin admitted he was ever so slightly addicted to.

He made her laugh, and she him, and they were both laughing as they fell into bed, hands and lips roaming the others with a stunning fervour that surprised, yet didn't surprise them at all. After, they shared another glass of whisky wrapped up in one another, finding that they still had more to talk about, the alcohol spurring a further lack of inhibitions, their tongues loosening and speaking far more intimately; about marriage, damaging upbringings and the like, all culminating in voices lost, their bodies doing all the talking they had no words for.

And now it's the morning. His head is fuzzy, as he's sure hers will be, and his tongue furry, and he's sure his breath is quite stale. Robin turns and heads back to the bathroom, grabbing her a glass of water along with a packet of aspirin, resting it on the bedside table.

The gentle clink of the glass against the wooden top rouses the sleeping lady, and she turns, eyes still closed but face now entirely bared to him. Her mascara had smudged a little, the barest trace of her lipstick left after he'd kissed it off the night before, but her natural beauty was completely evident.

Regina, he whispers and her lashes flutter as her eyes open, a gentle closed-mouth smile adorning her features as she focuses on him.

"Mmm, good morning, Robin." Her eyes fall closed almost straightaway as she shuffles a little and stretches with a grateful hum.

"There's some water for you, some aspirin, in case your head is…" he clears his throat, "less than perfect this morning." It makes her giggle and she sleepily grins at him.

"You really do think of everything, don't you?" She slurs as she continues to wake. "Your bed is very comfortable, by the way."

"Why thank you. Ikea's finest," he jokes. "Coffee?"

She leans up then, that ridiculously seductive face that she wears so effortlessly painting her features as she smiles. The blanket that sits loosely around her breasts falls, leaving them in plain view as Robin swallows. They're perfect, save for the little tooth-induced bruise just to the left of her right nipple, no doubt the result of his enthusiasm the night before.

"No." She leans forward ever so slightly, a rogue curl falling over her shoulder. "Come back to bed, Robin." He goes to protest his morning breath, but she shakes her head. "No, my dear. Come."


End file.
